


Make a Bad Idea Worse

by TehChou



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brady's a Dick, Community: blindfold_spn, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehChou/pseuds/TehChou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brady's back from Thanksgiving and Sam  is tired of this whole "no talking" shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make a Bad Idea Worse

He knows it's fucked up, knows fucking your boyfriend-- your exboyfriend when he's stoned off his mind and probably just had his cock balls deep in an STD ridden hooker makes him a pretty terrible person and an even worse friend.

But he keeps thinking about him, thinking about his body, all the little tells he makes when he wants it, but doesn't want to tell Sam, doesn't want to _talk_ about it because he's too sexy-shy, out of the closet but still scared of asking for what he _wants_. They'd just gotten past that, a little going away gift and now _this._

Sam can't help but think it's his fault Brady's like this. Thinks maybe he pushed too hard and too far and now he's back so deep in denial that he'll never find his way up, again.

It's little things that make him think this. Brady sails past him like he doesn't see him, and there's resentment in his back, all hard lines and accusatory angles and Sam didn't know you could read so much from a guy's shoulder blades. He's probably imagining it, his psyche projecting his guilt and confusion and hurt on the only person he's got that can provide answers for him.

But Brady's not talking and Sam's trying to give him space, he really, _really_ is, but it's been almost a month since Brady came back from his family Thanksgiving. An entire month since he came back hopped up on something and, in a gesture that seemed to scream **heterosexual** so loud the denial was almost physically painful to Sam and he wasn't even feeling it, fucked a brunette with tits a mile around right on their kitchen table. It was, he thought, a bit like an angry pet leaving a steaming pile of shit in its owner's shoes. Well, he'd think that if it wasn't so grossly disrespectful of Brady and their (terminated) slowly-progressing relationship.

Really.

So. Apparently he's losing all sense of moral integrity, because here he is, Brady bent face first over that same table the hooker'd (OK, technically _classmate_ but fuck her, anyways. Which is kinda part of his problem right now) been sprawled on top of, pounding into his ass with every inch of his ten and a half strong cock. He's angry, he knows, possessive, he's always had problems with possession but Brady's moaning under him, hands gripping the edges of the steadily rocking table, knuckles white and he's shoving back onto Sam with a whole lot of coked out enthusiasm.

Sam will feel like shit about that, later, he will, but he's fucking busy right now, dammit. And Brady's ass is so tight, so hot and just wet enough and Sam's fingers are digging possessive little bites into his pale-skinned hips as he groans his appreciation into his damp neck. Brady is twisting around in his grip, mouth panting hot breaths across his cheek and he's sucking kisses against the side of his face.

It had all come to a head when Brady had stepped out of the shower, naked but for a towel, hips snapping to the beat of a rhythm only he could hear. Sam had glowered at his back. When he'd came back from class he'd reeked of foreign smells, of perfume and beer, piss and vomit. He'd been out all night, again. It was almost noon when he'd waltzed in the door. Sam had stood when he'd walked passed him, came up behind him, got all up in his personal space, encircled him, his tensed up, repressed anger finally coming to a head. Brady'd turned around in his arms, eyes too wide and too bright and looked at him, lips parted, shiny with moisture and Sam licked his own lips to stop himself from licking Brady's.

"What the hell are you doing, Brady," he'd hissed, face close, probably too close to be comfortable. 

"Uhm, making a sandwich?" He'd sounded a little uncertain, but then his lips twisted into a grimace that Sam's sure would have been really convincing wry grin any other time. "Well, another one, anyway." And he'd laughed that obnoxious laugh he had now, the one that said the joke was on Sam and the world wasn't laughing with him, just at him.

Sam had breathed out through his nose, ducked down and kissed him.

Brady dropped the butter knife he'd had, choosing instead to surge up against Sam, wrapped his arms tight around his back and wedged himself firmly onto Sam's knee. Sam had let out a mighty, enthusiastic groan and shoved his back into the counter, his tongue as deep into Brady's mouth as it would go. After a long, intense moment of this, Brady'd gotten a hand between them and shoved against Sam's chest just hard enough to break the kiss.

"I wanna suck you off," he'd groaned. "Sam, _Sam_ let me up I want your cock in my mouth. Ugh, God, please I wanna make you feel good baby." Sam had hissed his enthusiasm, abandoning Brady for just long enough to pull down his pants, leaving his cock jutting free, tip glistening wetly with pre-cum. Brady'd dropped to his knees, hitting the tiled floor with a thunk that would probably mean bruises later. He'd slipped his mouth open, licked the long line of his cock and Sam fisted his fingers in Brady's short hair, tugging encouragement.

"Haha, so... eager," Brady'd gasped in between sucking at his head. "Careful, big boy I might break."

Sam had giggled a little hysterically at that.

Eventually he'd gotten tired of seeing Brady's head bobbing enthusiastically between his legs and hoisted him bodily up and shoved him over the table and that's how he'd gotten into the situation he was in now, balls deep in his ass and not feeling the guilt just yet.

He was close, so close and Brady was close, too, breath coming out in little keening pants and moans, faster and faster until it became one long whine that ended in a spectacularly tight clench of his ass around Sam's cock and that was it, he was cumming long and hard and deep inside Brady.

After, they're sitting in the kitchen, Brady's perched on top of the table still naked as the day he was born, smoking a cigarette and making Sam (seated on the floor, Indian style, also naked) feel uncomfortable with how much he looked like one of those hookers Sam was so pissed off at him about. How he knew what a hooker looked like, was, of course a story about his brother he'd rather not touch on right now. That had been an embarrassing sweet sixteen. Also kinda really illegal.

"I thought you weren't talking about the gay thing," he says finally, quietly. The shame is hitting him, now, fast and hard and he wants to curl up into a ball, or maybe be sick. He's not quite sure, yet.

Brady shrugs and blows out a long line of smoke.

"You were the one set on breaking up. I'm perfectly happy going both ways if you know what I mean." And he made a lewd gesture with his tongue that made Sam even more uncomfortably aware of his transgression here.

"...So are cool, then?" He asks, tentatively. Brady snorts a laugh.

"Oh, fuck no. We have so much to make up for." And he leers, quick and ugly and Sam, unsettled wonders how everything got so out of fucking control. He draws his knees up, arms around his legs and puts his head down for awhile.


End file.
